Bold
by vintagetypewriter
Summary: Ronnie Sullivan has been best friends with Jim Kirk since childhood: a friendship that seems to endure anything. Kirk/OC
1. Prologue: The Early Days

Prologue: The Early Days

I was exactly six years old on the day that I met James Tiberius Kirk. My father had taken enough time away from his work to recognize his little girl's golden birthday as, to a child, every birthday is so much more significant than the last. The fact that I was a fairly mellow child who felt differently would not have occurred to the man, who sought more to keep me safe and happy than to actually develop a relationship of any sort. However, he was obligated to show some form of effort on such occasions as these.

The park he had chosen to take me to wasn't much; there wasn't a blade of grass in sight and much like the rings of a mighty oak tree, the age of the jungle gym could be determined by the many flaky layers of rust. It's not that he couldn't have taken me some place nicer; it's just that he never had the desire to stray too far from his work, and this playground was the closest to our house in the way of entertainment. I was always a bit mature for my age, a trait that allotted me patience in situations like this, so I had no problem playing on the ancient equipment. No doubt my dad would shower me with gifts later on that night. What I had at the moment was far more valuable. His time and, for the most part, his attention.

"Daddy, look at me!" I called as I hung upside down from a bar; something I'd learned before school had ended that year.

"Yeah, sweetie. That's good!" He called, looking up briefly from the papers he'd brought with him.

"That's easy." I heard and the proud smile fell from my face. I struggled back into a seated position atop the bar and sized up the boy below. A quick assessment showed me that he was no different from the arrogant boys I'd gone to school while and I chose simply to ignore him as I moved on to the monkey bars.

"What's your name?" He persisted, walking along beneath me.

"Veronica." I answered dutifully before dropping to the ground. "What's yours?" I then asked, seeing as he was clearly my only candidate for a playmate.

"James Tiberius Kirk." He introduced proudly. So proudly, in fact, that I briefly wondered if he asked me my name just so he could share his in return. He seemed to be daring me to challenge the name, which he'd undoubtedly been bothered about by other kids. I didn't. "My mom calls me Jim." He added after a moment. My six-year-old self secretly cringed at the name. Jim? That wouldn't do.

"Can I call you Jamie?" I asked, a nickname that suited my fancy much more. The young boy didn't even bother to hide his cringe at the suggestion.

"Jamie? That's a girl's name!" He retorted.

"It is not!" I defended myself fervently. James T. Kirk and I then commenced to the first of many stare-downs to come.

"Fine." He huffed in surrender, awarding me that first victory. "But if you're going to call me by a girl's name…I'm going to call you Ronnie." He decided, waiting to get a reaction out of me.

"I don't care." I responded honestly.

And from then on, he did call me Ronnie. He was eight years old at that time, and I got the feeling that he was a lonely child, though he never would've admitted it. My father encouraged our friendship, probably because the time I spent with Kirk was time I didn't spend bothering him. We lived nearby, so all it took was sneaking through a couple of neighbors' fields to see each other.

I was with him the day he drove his stepfather's car off a cliff. That incident was the perfect symbol of our friendship: Jamie behind the wheel having the time of his life, and me in the passenger seat saying "Jamie, this isn't a good idea."

My father hardly ever kept track of where I was or what I was doing. I guess he figured because I was with Kirk, and he was two years older than me, I'd be okay. And I always was. Kirk always found a way to get me out of the trouble that he, admittedly had gotten me into. Whether it was pulling me with him as he leaped out of that convertible, or roughing up the lowlifes who touched me at the bars he dragged me to as a teenager.

By then, I was sixteen and he was eighteen and nothing had changed. He spent most of his time at my house, and my father and I didn't mind because we both knew if he wasn't there, he'd be off somewhere else, getting into trouble. Anything to stay away from that house of his. My father once went as far as to suggest that my insistence was the only thing that made Kirk stay in school until graduation.

My eyes fluttered open as I heard a faint string of noises from downstairs. Somebody was in the house. I sighed and climbed out of bed, creeping down the steps. I knew who it was.

"What happened, Kirk?" I asked softly. I had taken to calling him by his last name as I got older. It was about a month after Kirk turned eighteen, and about two weeks after his high school graduation, which my father and I had proudly attended. He whirled around to face me and I turned on the light.

"I was trying not to wake you up, Ronnie." He responded evasively, but I was too preoccupied with his darkened eye to notice.

"What happened to you?" I gasped, rushing over to assess the damage. My father was away on business, as he often was, and I secretly prayed this wasn't something that involved Kirk hiding from the police in my house. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"It's nothing. Look, your dad won't mind if I crash here for a while, will he?" He asked quickly, brushing off my question.

"Of course not." I responded softly. This wasn't the first time he had gotten physical with his stepfather. He proceeded up the stairs with the duffel bag he always seemed to have packed and I followed him. I watched from the door frame as he threw the duffel down and fell back on my bed silently. He never felt much like talking on these particular nights. The fact that he slept in my bed more than in his own was something that, needless to say, never came up in conversation with my father. For one thing, there was no sense in getting in trouble for something I wasn't doing; Kirk and I's sleeping arrangements were innocent. Aside from that, I simply figured what my father didn't know couldn't hurt him. And there was a lot he didn't seem to know about me.

Of course there were times when I got myself into trouble and Kirk was there to help me. Like when boyfriends he hated to begin with dumped me and he never said "I told you so." Or when I drank my own sorrows away and nursed me in my hangovers while keeping my condition concealed from my dad. Or when I skipped school for whatever illegitimate reason and he'd call the school and put on his best father impression. My own misdemeanors were few and far between compared to his, but he was always ready to come to my rescue whenever something went wrong. We took care of each other, the way no one else would.


	2. Big Ethel Saves the Night

"Ronnie!" My boss Dave called from behind the bar. "How long have you been here? I told you not to worry about coming in tonight!" He reminded me as I set a tray full of empty mugs on the counter for him to take away.

"I know, but then it occurred to me how many Starfleet cadets we'd be getting tonight and I didn't want you to be short of help." I explained in one breath.

"And _I _wanted _you_ to be rested for your departure tomorrow because in case you've forgotten, you _are_ one of those cadets now." He lectured in response.

"I know, I know," I mocked with a roll of my eyes. "I won't stay long, I promise. Just until the crowd thins out a bit." I insisted. There were only two other waitresses on duty and I felt sorry for them. I couldn't leave them to deal with the throngs of demanding people. Besides, I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to this place and I needed the work to relieve me of my incessant worrying. Because tomorrow I would be leaving everything.

"What are you doing here?" I heard about an hour later as I was placing an order of drinks onto my tray. "I thought Dave gave you tonight off?"

"Kirk, look at this place. It's packed!" I stated, brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face. "What was the point of staying home anyway? To sit around and mope all night?" I questioned.

"To spend your last night in town with your best friend?" He added and as soon as the words hit me I felt terrible. "I went to your house and you weren't there. I was worried I'd missed you already or something." He elaborated.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be working. I don't know what I was thinking." I apologized honestly. "Just let me finish up with this table and I'll be done for the night, I promise. Just stay here and _don't move_." I commanded before rushing off. I glanced back to see him still against the counter, his sights trained on a beautiful African-American Starfleet cadet who was ordering at the bar.

'Good,' I thought to myself, 'hopefully she'll keep him preoccupied long enough for me to fill in a couple more orders.'

A few minutes later, as I was doing just that, the familiar and sickening sound of knuckles against someone's skull caused me to let out a sigh of frustration. These things happened all the time, but I was in no mood to help break up the idiots tonight. I whirled around and approached the dense group of instigators, veering to the right just as the largest one was sent flying into the vacant table I'd just passed. My anger welled as I watched the table flatten beneath his enormous frame.

"Someone's going to pay for that table!" I threatened, but froze when I saw James Kirk in the middle of the squabble. I groaned, knowing I'd undoubtedly be the someone who paid for the table.

"Kirk!" I roared, but my anger dissolved as I assessed the odds. Four against one. "Okay, break it up!" I called dutifully, grabbing an arm that was poised and ready to knock my best friend's face off. The man wrenched his arm away and then brought it back to shove me away but I easily caught his wrist again and twisted it behind his back. My other hand found it's place on the back of his head which I swiftly smacked against the edge of the counter twice before he fell unconscious at my feet. Kirk had knocked out another one and he was no reuniting with the table flattener who seemed to have recovered quickly. The final contender also trained his attention on Kirk and I watched as the punches and kicks became more violent. Brain in fast forward, I jumped and slid over the bar counter to retrieve Big Ethel, the abrupt end of all bar fights. I had never pulled a gun on a fight, but Dave had on a few gruesome occasions. I wasn't even sure if I was allowed to do it, but Dave was nowhere in sight so I chose that moment not to care.

The crowd parted like the red sea as I came back through, toting the pump-action rifle with me. The man had Kirk pinned down to the table as he beat the living snot out of him. And nobody around was doing a thing about it besides grimacing or cheering. The man's fist froze in mid-swing as I pumped Ethel once and placed the end of the barrel mere inches from his face.

"Let him go." I commanded, as the racket still commenced in the background. Whether they were cheering him to keep going, or me to shoot, I did not know. He remained frozen, a firm grip on Kirk's shirt collar.

"Look, he started it." He began gruffly, but I cut him off.

"Maybe so, but it'll be your brains we scrape off the walls if you don't. Let. Him. Go." I threatened, my voice low enough to make even the hairs on the back of my own neck rise. He did as told, causing another onset of shouting from the witnesses around us.

A loud whistle resounded and the space went silent in an instant. I let my eyes wander from the cadet I was threatening to the newcomer. I inwardly cringed at the sight of Captain Pike, whom I'd met a few weeks prior, after first agreeing to enlist in Starfleet. However, I stood my ground. Pike calmly dismissed the cadets and after the face at the end of my barrel hurried away, I saw no need to continue wielding it.

"You whistle loudly, you know that?" Kirk attempted to say as I put Big Ethel down and helped him up. His face was so bloodied and swollen he was hardly recognizable. Karen, a fellow waitress who finally emerged from behind a fallen table rushed to get him some ice at my stern command. The fact that Pike was still in the room lingered at the back of my mind as I stuck strips of Kleenex up Kirk's bleeding nose, but I dismissed my concerns. There was no way he'd remember my face with all of the enlistees he's required to meet.

"Ms. Sullivan, are you going to act like you don't remember me?" He suddenly asked from behind me.

"Of course not, Captain." I responded after a moment, ignoring the questioning look Kirk offered me. "I was still reeling at the poor discipline of your cadets." I added bravely as an excuse.

"I can assure you Starfleet does not condone this sort of behavior. They will be punished accordingly." He replied calmly.

"Maybe she's not interested now that she's experienced Starfleet firsthand." Kirk chimed in for me, and I promptly offered him a look of disapproval. Kirk had no problem making it known that he didn't want me to join Starfleet. Pike smirked.

"Captain Christopher Pike." He introduced himself, awaiting an introduction in return, hand outstretched. Kirk merely glanced at the hand.

"This is James T. Kirk." I spoke up after a moment, glancing at Kirk once again. I had known he wasn't happy about me joining Starfleet, but that didn't give him license to be so outwardly rude to anyone affiliated with it.

"Kirk?" The captain repeated. "I know who you are."

"Who am I?" Kirk challenged.

"Your father's son." Pike replied and I stiffened with Kirk at the mention of his father. I opened my mouth to defend him, but Pike continued speaking before I could get a word in.

"Ms. Sullivan, you're going to be shipping out bright and early tomorrow. I suggest you head home and get some rest." He said in a tone that told me I was being dismissed from the conversation.

"So are you." I retorted, gaining a cocked eyebrow in response. I inwardly groaned. My proclivity to get defensive over Kirk was going to land me in hot water with my superiors before I even shipped out.

"Go ahead, Ronnie." Kirk insisted, not taking his gaze off of Pike. "I'll head back to your place when I'm done here. Don't worry."

"Fine." I conceded after a moment. "But drive slowly. Your eye's practically swollen shut."

An hour later found me waiting for Kirk, a pot of tea brewing in a kettle on the stove. Two hours later found me wrapped up in a blanket on my couch, fast asleep and very alone. Five hours later found me shuffling around the house, yawning, alone, getting ready to make my first journey into space.


End file.
